


blood in the water

by NatureGirl202



Series: raindrops on the tongue, blood under the nails [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, apologies for whatever that last bit is lol, didn't know how to end this so like
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-15
Updated: 2017-03-15
Packaged: 2018-10-05 20:42:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10316600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NatureGirl202/pseuds/NatureGirl202
Summary: a first meeting and the aftershocks of loss. plus maybe somewhere in this whole mess, there’s something going right.





	

**Author's Note:**

> some dialogue taken directly from the game.

They stop near a lake. Duncan apologizes, saying there won’t be anywhere for her to buy a change of clothes until they reach Ostagar. He steps away, though, so that she may at least clean what she can of herself. It’s then when she notices her right hand is cramping, from clinging to Konroy’s fur since they left the castle. She releases the poor dog, flexing her hand against the protest of her knuckles. There’s blood on her hand, and she’s not sure who it belongs to. Konroy lets out a wine and nudges her leg. She jumps, and realizes she’s been staring at her hand for too long.

She strips and enters the water. It’s cold, sending a shiver up her spine. It’s almost a welcome relief, though, as she realizes she hasn’t felt much of anything since leaving the castle. But then she remembers the blood and starts to scrub. She scrubs at her flesh until it’s red and raw, even the areas that hadn’t been touched by blood. All that’s left to clean is her hair, the flecks of blood standing out amongst the blonde strands. With shivering fingers, she plucks the hair out of its do. Then, with a deep breath, she plunges beneath the water.

It’s quiet under the water. She can close her eyes and pretend that everything else isn’t real, that this has all been a simply vivid nightmare. _Pretend. Pretend. Pretend._ She can pretend that Ser Gilmore, the boy she’d kissed in the stables when she was a young girl, is lying awake in his bed, excitedly awaiting recruitment to the Grey Wardens. She can pretend Oriana, her sister in all the ways that counted, is pacing back and forth, fretting for her husband as he travels to the battlefield. She can pretend Oren, that sweet little boy who always lit up a room, is running around his room, playing the knight and rescuing imaginary damsels. She can pretend that both her mother and her father are slumbering peacefully through the night. She can pretend that all she had to look forward to tomorrow is sending her father off to battle and having a castle to look after. _Pretend. Pretend. Pretend._

Eventually, though, she has to surface. And when the cold air stings her face, she knows it’s real. She slips on the dress stained with the blood of her father and the blood of those who killed him, and she feels dirty all over again. 

* * *

“You know, one good thing about the Blight, is how it brings people together.”

“I know exactly what you mean.” Her first words to him are dry, as if not all that amused. He can tell it’s not directed at him, though, more life in general, so it doesn’t do much to curb his own humor.

When Duncan had mentioned his new recruit, he’s not entirely sure what he’d been expecting. He knew it was a _girl_ , that she’d been through “a lot recently”—which isn’t ominous _at all_ , Duncan—and that she shows quite a bit of skill with a sword. He first notices that she must be a whole foot shorter than him. Her face is soft, with full green eyes and a dainty nose. There’s a slight pucker to her lips, which seem just as soft as her skin. She has long blonde hair tied loosely and thrown over her shoulder. If it weren’t for the armor she wears—which appears new and looks like something the quartermaster had been selling—and the weapon strapped to her back, “warrior” wouldn’t be the first word that comes to mind upon seeing her.

“You know, it just occurred to me that there have never been many women in the Grey Wardens. I wonder why that is.”

One of her eyebrows quirks upward. “Probably because we’re too smart for you.”

“ _True_ , but if you’re here, what’s that make you?”

“Incredibly unlucky.” The corners of her lips tilt up just the _slightest_ bit, though, so he considers that a success.

She proves herself to be as skilled with a sword as he was led to believe, maybe even more so, slicing through the darkspawn with the efficiency of a seasoned soldier. They’re two vials in and a few paces ahead of the other recruits when he attempts more conversation. “ _So_ , I never caught your name.”

She glances at him quickly and he hopes his face appears friendly enough, before her eyes return to where they’d been routed to their path. “Namera.” She pauses, stepping deftly over a hazardous tree root. “Namera Cousland.”

That’s just as he reaches the root and his surprise at her name distracts him enough for the root to catch the tip of his boot, making him give a light stumble. He lets out a light curse, before quickening his pace for but a moment so that he may catch up with her. “ _Cousland_? As in the Couslands of Highever?” She frowns, but doesn’t break the neutral expression she wears.

“Yes.”

This time, he’s the one frowning. He knows enough of the Couslands to know they only have two children, a son and daughter. He tries shifting through his memories of his time with Eamon, certain that he must have caught at least an image or two of the family during some visit. He comes up empty, though. He supposes he had never met them, as he’s certain he would’ve remembered meeting a pretty little blonde girl, as it wasn’t often then that he got to meet children around his own age. “I’m surprised Teyrn Cousland let his only daughter run off and join the Wardens.”

He watches as there’s a sudden, visible crack in her demeanor. It’s probably not noticeable from a distance, but he’s close enough to watch as her steps become heavier and her shoulders stiffen and she blinks rapidly for a moment all while sucking in a deep breath. He’s not sure what he just opened, but he’s already regretting it, an apology on the edge of his lips. She’s speaking, though, quickly. Her words sound rehearsed, but there’s the slightest waver to her voice.

“They were murdered. Arl Howe had them slaughtered. Duncan got me out, but my brother and I are the only ones left. He’s off to battle, though, so I can’t contact him.” _Crap_. He messed up.

“Oh… I’m so sorry.” He hopes she can tell how earnest he is. Leave it to him to attempt casual conversation only to accidently bring up the subject of her dead family. She just shrugs, though, still not making eye contact.

“It’s fine. I mean, it’s _not_ , but-” She huffs, flexes her hands, and glances around. “Are there any more darkspawn around?”

Incidentally, there _are_.

* * *

She honestly should’ve known that everything would go wrong _again_. The ground is getting closer and she knows she must fall, but she’s determined to keep clinging to that edge for as long as it takes to get justice for her family. It’s her only reason to keep holding on at this point. Well, that and apparently all of Ferelden is counting on her.

She has to keep her focus from herself, though. A distraction is provided in the fact that she’s not the only one affected by loss this time. Alistair has lost Duncan and for the first time, someone might just _get_ what she’s going through, if even just a little bit. He expresses his wish to have been there in battle with Duncan and her chest tightens because she _gets it_. She wishes she had stayed with her parents and defended them to her last breath, even against all hope. But she had— _has_ —to tell Fergus about Arl Howe and his betrayal and she just _can’t die yet_.

“Have you had someone close to you die? Not that I mean to pry, I’m just…”

She blinks at him dumbly, so surprised by the question that her response blurts out before she has time to think of it. “My entire family was murdered just recently.” She winces after the words leave her and at the slightly dumbfounded tone they took—she’s pretty sure she’d already mentioned this to him—because, wow, way to make it all about herself. Alistair is immediately apologetic and she wants to tell him it’s alright, that she understands and doesn’t expect her own loss to be in the forefront of everyone’s mind. He’s already thanking her for the conversation, though, so all she does it let out a light sigh and offer him a small, soft smile that she hopes conveys that she understands and she’s here for him and she doesn’t see any reason why she wouldn’t ever be. “Any time, Alistair.”

It’s later when she’s bending down to give some coin to a refugee child and offering a kind smile, sunlight filtering through her golden locks and a few strands being blown by the breeze, that he picks a rose and tucks it safely into his pack.

**Author's Note:**

> Also on [tumblr](http://bxtgrl.tumblr.com/post/158452108527/blood-in-the-water). <3


End file.
